


don't go quietly

by larrymaybe22



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymaybe22/pseuds/larrymaybe22
Summary: Harry relapses. Louis is there for him.





	don't go quietly

**Author's Note:**

> HI HELLO, IF YOU CLICKED ON THIS FIC PLEASE READ ME! 
> 
> This is a disclaimer. Eating disorders are not only a controversial and sensitive topic, but one that is deeply personal to me. I do not take this lightly. Eating disorders are different for everyone, both source and manifestation, and just because Harry's experience in this fic may not mirror someone else's experience, please be kind with your comments. Additionally, Louis in this fic harbors a lot of guilt, which is common for the loved ones of eating disorder victims - it is NOT your fault, nor is it something in your control if your loved one develops an eating disorder. The best advice I can give is to support them in every way you can. If this is a sensitive or triggering for you, please don't read. Take care of yourself first. 
> 
> This is a work of fiction and does not reflect the lives or my opinion of the boys. I found writing this to be very cathartic and maybe someone else out there might feel the same way reading it. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Katie 
> 
> Also, my beta's Lynda and Roni warn you not to be mean or else you'll have to answer to them hahah. You guys are awesome <3
> 
> Title is from Skin & Bones by David J. Roch
> 
> National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA)  
> nationaleatingdisorders.org  
> helpline: 1-800-931-2237

_“Something always brings me back to you_

_It never takes too long…”_

_Gravity – Sara Bareilles_

_Now_

It didn’t take long for Louis to start noticing the signs again. To anyone else, or any other outsider, his boyfriend’s behavior might not seem any cause for pause, but a knowing weight that never really went away the first time remains at the pit of Louis’ stomach.

He hadn’t wanted to discourage him, especially after months and months of Harry doing so much better, but quietly, Louis had known in his heart of hearts that this was a probability. That this would grab Harry again, no matter how hard his beautiful little heart fought it day after day.

Louis had known to be on the lookout, secretly feeling terrified and helpless all the same.

Harry started acting weird two Tuesdays ago. Louis had been listening to a podcast episode on hiking as he kept an eye on the roast potatoes in the oven, wondering if he could convince Harry to go with a backpacking trip for their next holiday. A few minutes later, Louis could hear the jingling of keys and the turning of a lock, a sweaty Harry bounding in from the gym. For the fourth night in a row. Louis had attributed it to his boyfriend blowing off steam – the poor thing had been working never-ending days downtown in preparation for fashion week coming up. 

“Hey, baby,” Louis greeted, pausing his podcast as Harry walked into the kitchen from the living room.

Harry didn’t return his smile, though. He dropped his gym bag at his feet and stared about the kitchen with almost wild eyes. 

“Are you cooking?” Harry asked, sounding more manic than Louis felt comfortable with.

Louis rounded the kitchen island to get a closer look. He brought a hand to cup one of his triceps, gently thumbing the material of his sweatshirt.

“Yeah? Something wrong, Haz?”

“No, no, _no,_ Lou,” Harry whined, shutting his eyes. “I told you that _I_ would cook tonight.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “I know. You’ve just been working so hard, I thought I’d treat you to a roast. I know it’s not Sunday, but I just thought…” Louis studied his boyfriend, unsure of what had really gotten him so worked up. “Are you mad?”

Harry opened his eyes, starting to say something back when he sighed, running a hand through his sweat-dried curls before closing his mouth and shaking his head. His hair stood up in all sorts of directions. If Louis hadn’t been so concerned, he probably would’ve laughed.

“No, I’m not. Sorry, I guess I had just been looking forward to cooking tonight. It’s alright.”

Louis eyed him, not sure if he really believed that. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, bending down to pick his bag off from the floor. “I think I may have overdone it at the gym or something.”

“Okay…Well, why don’t you go on up and shower. That’ll help you feel better. Dinner will be ready soon.” 

Harry didn’t say anything else, just pulled a tight, toothless smile and bending down to peck Louis’ cheek before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

With Harry gone, Louis turned to lean both hands against the marble of their island, anxiously biting his lip. 

Harry had been in the shower for almost an hour. Dinner had been ready, the dining table set, and Louis sat in his chair for nearly thirty minutes. Louis’ heart started pounding after about the fifteenth minute. He was half a second away from pushing back his chair and running up to the bathroom when Harry finally came quietly down the stairs.

He was dressed in one of Louis’ older jumpers, one he stole from way back when they were still in uni, and a baggy pair of sweats, hair dripping down onto his shoulders. He came up behind Louis’ chair and kissed him softly on the top of his head, whispering, “Thanks for dinner,” before moving to sit down in his own.

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Louis tried his hardest not to stare at Harry and his plate the whole time, so as to not alarm Harry of his concern. If – if things were… _not okay_ again, Harry’d probably get defensive. Louis was failing miserably, though. He barely registered what food from his own plate he was putting into his mouth, most of his focus on Harry across the table.

Harry had been cutting his beef into miniscule pieces, separating the tiny cubes into two different piles. He was hyper-focused on it, too – his body hunched over so close to the table, barely blinking.

“Haz, what are you doing?” Louis blurted before he could stop himself.

Harry looked up from his plate, startled. He slowly set his elbows down and cleared his throat. “Oh, erm. I’m cutting off all the fatty bits.” His eyes flicked from his meat to Louis, before he quickly added, “I don’t like the texture.”

Louis nodded to himself, swallowing thickly. He reached for his wine and took a long swig. “Right. What about the potatoes? You usually love my roasted potatoes.” He tried for nonchalance, an attempt to make it sound like casual conversation.

Harry looked down at the three lone potatoes on his plate. “They were a bit salty this time. Sorry, babe.”

Other than the potatoes and the decimated steak, the only other food Harry dished himself were the carrots and peas, which took up the entire other half of his plate. No Yorkshire pudding. He didn’t even touch the gravy boat.

He did eat everything on his plate, much to Louis’ relief, and after dinner, Harry had insisted that he do the dishes. Louis didn’t bother to bring out the ice cream he had bought at the store while gathering stuff for dinner. Instead, he went into the den and set up a rom-com, knowing that it was at least something that would make Harry feel good.

Later that night, in bed, Louis had spent hours lying on his side, staring at the back of Harry’s curly head, watching the steady rise and fall of his boyfriend’s shoulders underneath the big jumper he had worn to bed, despite his reputation as a naked sleeper.

Louis couldn’t remember how long it took him to finally fall asleep that night, but he does remember the niggling sense of dread that took him over and hasn’t left.

***

_Then_

The first time Harry stopped eating was when he was sixteen. At the time, though, he had no idea what he was doing.

The stress of moving to a new town and a new school in the middle of the school year, trying to make friends while also trying to catch up with the rest of his classmates took a heavy toll on Harry, to the point where he’d completely lost his appetite.

He never really _felt_ hungry. He looked at his meals with disinterest, his mind racing with so many more pressing things than his mum’s spag bol. No one had noticed anything was wrong despite Harry appearing to have lost the roundness of cheeks in only a matter of weeks. Harry hadn’t known there was a name for it, for what was happening. And even so, everything seemed to right itself once Harry made a new best friend in the cheeky Irish boy in his chemistry class, spending afternoons listening to the Eagles and chowing down on cheap pizza.

Louis and Harry had already been together when it all really began, just over a year ago – when Harry did it on purpose.

It hadn’t been some warped saviour complex that drew Louis to this handsome and deeply-troubled boy, determined to be the one to fix him. No, Harry had been the cute, but clumsy barista who spilt Louis’ tea in his lap his second year at Manchester, with the curls and the dimples, who had grabbed hold of Louis’ heart and has yet to give it back.

Louis has been here through it all. Through the horror that was last year, when the foundations of Harry’s secrets started to crumble, Louis desperate as all hell to keep the love of his life from dying.

Harry is a fashion photographer and a fucking good one. What started as a last minute elective turned into a passion, which eventually turned into a wildly successful career. Louis has never spent his life more in awe of a person, never once regretting packing his bags and following him to New York.

Harry’s on the move a lot, traveling, heading from shoot to shoot, nose-diving himself into his work. Things have been a lot less hectic since they made the move and settled down out west two years ago, but that doesn’t mean Harry grew superhuman powers from all the yoga and green juices. As much as Harry loves fashion, it’s a harsh world.

If Louis’ being honest, he hasn’t always been the biggest fan of certain people, certain rules Harry faces every day.

It had been about two weeks before last year’s fashion week when Harry got sick.

Early September has always been a very hectic time for the both of them – Louis getting used to the rhythm of a new school year, and Harry, running around like a headless chicken with his camera equipment, going to test shoots, attending fittings, meeting with designers whose shows he’ll photograph, before he flies to New York. 

Louis had picked Harry up one afternoon on his lunch break from where he was on location in West Hollywood. He’d spent the morning doing an editorial shoot with a model who was doing a promotional video for fashion week with Vogue. Louis got a text from him in between his morning classes that he wasn’t feeling that great. Louis had smiled to himself as he leaned back in his desk chair, typing out his suggestion to get lunch together. Harry always gets much clingier when he’s sick.

Louis had pulled up to the street his navigation sent him to, Harry already waiting for him on the curb, wearing a pinched expression.

Harry plopped down in the passenger seat, groaning, and leaning his head back against the headrest with his eyes closed.

“Aw, baby,” Louis cooed. He leaned over the center console to push back the fallen curls off his boy’s forehead. “Still not feeling well?”

Harry just shook his head.

“Think it’s a fever?” Louis asked, keeping his palm flat where it is on Harry’s forehead. He didn’t feel hot... 

“No, it’s my stomach. Just been nauseous all morning.”

Louis frowned, pulling his hand back. “Food poisoning, maybe?”

Harry opened his eyes then, lips just barely turned upward. “We both had the same breakfast sandwiches. I’d say probably not, unless you also have been on the verge of vomming for the past few hours.”

Louis snorted, squeezing Harry’s knee gently before switching the car back into drive.

“Let’s get some soup then. Something light, yeah?”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes again, smiling appreciatively. “Thanks, Lou.”

Harry’s stomach hadn’t let up after that like they expected. Harry felt nauseous after nearly everything he ate, most of the time opting not to eat at all, becoming paranoid of being sick. Louis followed after him like a mother hen with water and antacids. (“Lou, I don’t have time for this. I have so many things to be on top of right now.” “You still need to eat, babe. C’mon, just some plain toast at least.”)

Harry had listened, eating dry bread for almost every meal until he started to feel pretty much back to normal. It all came to a head, though, when Harry had had his first real meal again. Louis knows now that fettuccine alfredo had been poor judgment.

After spending all night with his head in the toilet, Harry finally agreed to go to the doctor. Honestly, they both thought it was the stomach flu.

Not quite.

Gastric stomach lesions. Erosions of his stomach lining caused by stress and food restriction left him sensitive to things like acidity, dairy, meat, oil, caffeine, etc. 

Some people might find a diagnosis like that upsetting, especially in learning that it’s their own fault it happened. Harry didn’t feel he had the time to be upset, though. He took the medicine the doctor prescribed, gave up dairy and caffeine cold turkey, and dove straight back into work. 

As much as photography is Harry’s first love, there’s a reason why he never ventured out in front of the camera despite how drop dead gorgeous he is. 

(Remember when Louis said he isn’t the fashion industry’s biggest fan? He personally would like to deck the wankers who ever told Harry that his too large nose and too pudgy hips would prevent from ever being a proper model, right in the bollocks. Harry’s love handles are adorable, thank you very much.)

Harry had lost some weight when he was too sick to eat, but it seemed to just fall right off him shortly after he cut so much out of his diet. Harry was never an unhealthy eater by any means, but who knew getting rid of mac n’ cheese Mondays and pizza Fridays would cause that much weight loss?

People started noticing.

“Hazza, darling! Babe, you look _gorgeous,_ have you lost weight?”

“Harry, you _must_ tell me what diet you’re on. I’d kill to have my stomach that flat.”

“You’ve honestly never looked better. Good job, H.”

Stupid, reckless, _shallow_ people. Feeding bullshit to the monster growing in Harry’s brain like candy in the form of empty compliments.

Once, their last year at uni, Harry had to give a presentation in one of his courses. He had just walked up to the podium when some dickhead in the front row laughed, “Hey, what’s with the fucking nail varnish, mate? Fucking ridiculous.” He said it loud enough for the whole lecture hall to hear, other students erupting in equally cruel laughter.

Louis held him close to his chest, stroking his back gently and letting Harry cry it out, tangled up together under Louis’ duvet.

“I’ve always wanted to be that person, who – who didn’t care what other people think of them,” Harry whispered into Louis’ after a while, exhausted. “But I – I just don’t think that I am, Lou.”

It had broken Louis’ heart back then. It broke his heart even worse when it took him almost three months to realize that Harry had started to starve himself.

He really felt like the worst fucking boyfriend on the planet for not noticing how gaunt and ghostly Harry had become.

Harry had been traveling so much and when he was home, he spent most of his time in the office they converted into darkroom for him. He just seemed busy. Louis missed him a fuckton, yeah, but he respected Harry’s passion so much he didn’t want to get in the way of it. Besides, he was directing the winter musical that year so he had a lot on his plate, too.

Louis is ashamed to admit he finally noticed something was wrong when Harry all of a sudden became detached and withdrawn within their relationship. 

For the first time in who knows how many years, Harry couldn’t hold a conversation anymore. He was always staring off into space, pretending like Louis wasn’t even there. They stopped having sex, Harry all curled up in on himself all the way on the other side of the bed each night. He was jumpy all the time, paranoid, lying about where he was and who he was with.

For half a second, Louis thought Harry might be cheating on him. But, no. He knows his Harry. He’d never do that to Louis.

After weeks of constantly feeling on edge, Louis kept wondering when Harry was finally going to say it’s over, because that’s what it felt like. Not to Louis, never to Louis. He’d fight with everything he had in him to keep Harry if that’s what this really was all about.

The only thing that gave him comfort back then was that Harry still practically lived in the oversized jumpers and joggers that Louis liked to buy. Harry wearing Louis’ clothes – that was a good sign, right?

Louis wishes he could rewind to that winter and tell his past self to _go fucking ask what’s wrong._ Louis had been so petrified, had so thoroughly convinced himself that Harry was unhappy in their relationship and wanted to leave him that he just. Did nothing. He didn’t want to be the one to initiate that conversation, like a fucking coward.

If only he hadn’t found out the way he had. If only he had confronted Harry, begged him to tell him what was wrong so that he can help.

Harry had forgotten to lock the bathroom door while getting ready for his shower – something else he’d started doing.

Louis walked in on him, originally looking for his glasses, though the glasses were quickly forgotten. Standing there, naked and exposed to Louis for the first time in _months,_ Harry had nowhere left to hide.

“Oh, _baby_ …”

Louis could see every rib, every knob of his spine. His hip bones protruded out like sharp weapons.

Louis clamped a violent hand over his mouth as he choked out an ugly sob. He sank down to his knees, the soft rug beneath him cushioning the impact. He cried into his hands, shaking, willing himself to unsee what he just saw – his boyfriend, his beautiful, _beautiful_ Harry, emaciated and frail. And where the fuck had _he_ been?

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry…”

After a minute or so, Louis felt a hesitant hand against his back. Harry held onto him and Louis could almost feel his apology. The guilt eroding inside him was too intense for Louis that night.

_It should be the other way around. It should be me taking care of him. It should’ve been my job._

***

 _Now_

“Where are you going?” Louis asks the next morning, fixing himself tea.

“The gym,” Harry rushes, bounding into the kitchen. He grabs his water bottle from the counter where he left it last night and refills it. 

Louis can’t help but fixate on the way his sweatshirt hangs on him. Does it look baggier than before? Is this just Louis’ brain projecting because of his suspicion?

“Again? You worked out for nearly two hours last night, babe.”

Harry shrugs, capping the water bottle. “Need something to get my energy up. Long shoot today.”

“Well, do you want something to eat before you go? It’s Saturday. Was gonna make French toast.” Louis knows his answer before he says it. 

“Nah, they’ll have food on set,” Harry walks over and smiles, pecking Louis on the cheek. If he can sense Louis’ worry, he definitely doesn’t comment on it. “Bye, baby. See you tonight. Love you.”

“I love you,” Louis returns, smiling back, knowing it doesn’t meet his eyes. 

He does. He loves Harry so much.

The exercising worries him. Harry definitely never used to work out this much, always much more inclined to spend a morning doing yoga on the back patio than spending who knows how many hours at the gym – Louis’ certainly lost track at this point. 

They don’t keep scales in the house anymore. Louis can’t help but think about the ones lined up inside the gym locker room, waiting for their victims to come find them.

Louis shakes his head, dumping out his cold tea. He needs to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. If Harry is relapsing, he’d come to Louis. They’d work it out together, just like they had the first time all those months ago. Or at least, he hopes Harry would.

Too tired suddenly for French toast, Louis pours himself a bowl of cornflakes and sets himself up on the couch to get a head start on some grading. He needs a distraction.

***

_Then_

Harry refused to get medical help.

After the initial shock of what he saw, calming down enough to get his wits about him, gears started to shift in Louis.

Moving away from Harry, he wiped at his wet face with the back of his hand. “Right. C’mon, get up. Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital.”

Louis will never forget the immediate panic in Harry’s eyes.

“No! No, Louis, please. I don’t need to go to the hospital.” Harry had pleaded.

“My fucking arse you don’t.”

“Louis –“

“If you won’t let me take you, I’m calling your mum –“

" _No!_ Don’t, please you’ll worry her over nothing. I’m okay, really.”

“You’re not _fucking okay,_ Harry!” Louis shouted. “Look at yourself! Look in the fucking mirror! How has your body not shut down by now?”

Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, arms folding protectively around himself, a clear attempt to hide. He wouldn’t look in the mirror.

“Please stop yelling at me...”

His voice was so small. In it, Louis could hear how much pain he was in and just like that all the anger in Louis deflated.

Louis scooped him up just in time for Harry to crack, sobbing and shaking, their roles reversed to how they were only minutes ago. Louis shushed him, his own face wet, singing soothing words into Harry’s ear.

“It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you." 

Louis tried not to think about how tiny Harry felt in his arms and how sick it made him, focusing instead on petting his hair, hoping Harry understood how much he was loved.

He let Harry get dressed, silently getting their bed ready. Once under the covers, Louis reached out and pulled Harry onto his chest.

The silence was heavy in the dark room until Louis couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hazza…” He swallowed thickly. “ _Why?_ ”

Harry sniffed, shivering. Cuddled up tight with Louis, warm clothes, wrapped in a duvet and he was still cold. Louis kicked himself at how obvious it all was. 

“You are _so_ beautiful, love,” Louis continued when Harry said nothing. “You were perfect just the way you were. You – you didn’t - you _don’t_ need to do this to yourself.”

Harry let out a muffled whimper into Louis’ chest. Louis combed his fingers through his curls like he’d always done to comfort Harry. 

“You know this is a problem, right? We have to do something about this.” 

Harry was silent for so long, Louis almost thought he had fallen asleep.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered eventually. It felt confessional.

“You’re not alone in this, alright? You’ve got me. You’ve got your family. We’re going to get you the best help there is and –“

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Harry interrupts. “Just wanna sleep.”

Louis hesitated for a moment before conceding. “Yeah, okay.”

Seeing how… _distraught_ Louis was finding him in the bathroom like that was almost like a wake-up call for Harry. 

Harry had promised to try. It wasn’t easy. There were many “promises” and “if I eat it will you fucking shut up, Louis?” Evenings at the dinner table where Harry would look at the plate Louis set in front of him, getting as far as picking up his fork before bursting into tears. 

Here’s the thing with eating disorders. In order to actually get better, you have to really _want_ to get better or else nothing changes.

“Sometimes I think my anorexia is the most interesting thing about me,” Harry confessed one evening as the two cuddled together by the fireplace. Louis had done his best to quell such an absurd thought, telling Harry he has always been the most amazingly interesting person he’s ever met before excusing himself to the loo, biting down hard onto his fist so Harry couldn’t hear him cry.

It took two more months of fruitless trying before Harry finally decided he wanted his life back.

Even so, no doctors. No calls to mum, no medication. No therapy.

“I want to do this myself, Lou,” Harry reasoned. “I just – I sit here and all I can think about is how amazing it would feel, making it to the other side, knowing that I was the one who pulled myself out of this. Does that make sense?”

“Babe, I think there’s nothing in this world you can’t do, but. This is a lot to face all alone…” 

“I’m not alone. I have you.”

Louis wasn’t entirely convinced, but he’d never seen Harry this motived, this _alive,_ in months. He wasn’t going to compromise that. 

Especially since it really started to work. 

Louis had cashed in all his vacation days and took Harry out of L.A. Away from fashion, away from the triggers. They ended up in Paris for a few days, Harry not that keen on returning to the UK, before spending a week and a half in Saint Tropez.

Saint Tropez was a dream.

Harry couldn’t stomach too much at first – they were careful not to create a shock to his system. But it was almost like falling in love Harry all over again that week and half, seeing how much effort Harry put in to actively getting better, munching on bread and butter before dinner, and even sharing an ice cream cone walking down the beach at sunset.

Slowly but surely, Harry continued to get better when they came home and they both went back to work. Winter turned into spring, spring into summer and it was as if Louis had his Harry again. 

It overwhelmed Louis how proud he was of Harry. How proud he _still_ is, no matter what. Louis will never take those months of progress away from him.

But with all addictions, physical and mental, what follows a peak is often a valley.

***

 _Now_

The day before Harry leaves for New York, Louis can’t take it anymore.

He’s sitting on their bed, trying to narrow down between a few scripts for his senior class to work on.

Harry’s rushing about the room, pulling clothes off of hangers and throwing them into his suitcase, and grabbing toiletries from the bathroom.

Louis chuckles, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Take a breath, babe. Your flight doesn’t leave until eleven tomorrow.”

Harry’s got one of his playlists going quietly, the setting sun peeking in through the half-drawn curtains over their window. It’s a nice night.

Harry smirks back at him, kneeling onto the carpet to start folding the pile of fancy clothes he’s accumulated. “The faster I move, the faster I finish.” 

Louis raises an eyebrow. “That so? Got a date or something?”

“Mm. There’s this sexy drama teacher sitting on my bed. Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”

“Ah, I see,” Louis laughs, though definitely picking up what Harry’s putting down. “Don’t blame you. Best get on with it then.” 

Louis turns his attention back to the scripts on his laptop, smiling to himself, while Harry speed folds. Louis can’t imagine he’s doing a decent job of it at all, though, more like hastily playing a game of Tetris with his YSL and Gucci. Louis has half a mind to chide him for being careless with such nice clothes. 

After a minute or two, Harry zips the suitcase shut and pops to his feet. The grin on his face immediately falls as he sways off balance. He leans forward to steady himself, one hand gripping the sheets at the foot of the bed, the other clutching his forehead, his eyes pinched shut.

Louis quickly shuts his laptop, sitting up. “Harry?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry waves him off, slowly standing straight again. He swallows roughly before letting out a small laugh, blinking his eyes open. They don’t look at Louis. “Just got up too fast, I think.”

And that’s it. Louis has to say something.

He pushes his computer aside and slides off the bed. He stares at Harry for a moment, thumbing anxiously at the sides of his sweats. He knows this isn’t going to go well. 

“Honey,” he starts carefully, “have you been eating?” 

Harry’s face pales slightly before he catches himself. “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean, Harry. Are you skipping meals again?” 

Harry gets angry. 

“Where the fuck is this coming from?” 

Louis runs a frustrated hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. “Just answer me, please.” 

“ _No,_ Louis. I haven’t been skipping meals. I’m better now, you know that.” 

“Do I? You’ve been acting strange lately. You avoid eating with me when you’re home, and when we do eat together, I think I’ve really only seen you take three or four bites. You’re barely sleeping through the night, all these new hours at the gym. And now you’re getting dizzy spells?” Louis throws his hands up in the air. “What am I supposed to think, Harry?”

Harry crosses his arms. “I don’t know, maybe trust me? Trust that I’d come to you if I was having those thoughts again?” 

“And would you?” Louis counters. “If you’re having a relapse, you’d tell me?” 

“ _Yes,_ Lou.” Harry crosses the room to reach him, gently cupping Louis’ face into his palms. “I’m fine, I swear.”

Louis closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, feeling his resolve fade. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay.”

Harry pulls him into his chest, kissing his hair. 

“I guess I just worry about you. I’m still so mad at myself about last time, not seeing it earlier. I read that anorexia can affect people for the rest of their lives, even after their recovery and –“

“Shh, baby. Look at me.” Harry pulls back a little, hands still cupping his face before pressing a soft kiss onto Louis’ lips. “It means so much to me. How much you care.”

“I didn’t mean to pick a fight on your last night,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips. 

“Don’t. We’re okay.” Harry kisses him one more time before letting go. “Let’s watch a movie then go to sleep, yeah?”

The next morning, kissing Harry goodbye as his car picks him up to leave for the airport, Louis still feels uneasy.

***

It’s on Harry’s third day in New York that Louis gets the call.

“Harry’s fainted at one of the shows. He hit his head falling down some stairs. He’s okay – they’re taking him to the ER right now,” is the first thing that tumbles out of Liam’s mouth – one of Harry’s closest model friends – as soon as Louis answers the phone.

“Fucking shit,” Louis swears, thankful it’s a passing period and there are no students around. He knew it. He fucking _knew it_. “Liam. Has he been eating? Have you seen him eat?” 

There’s a short pause on the line before Liam speaks up. “No…actually. Now that you mention it, I don’t think I have.” 

Louis needs to punch something. “Right. Thanks for calling me. I’m on my way.” 

He gets Mrs. Crenshaw to watch the rest of his afternoon classes and rushes to the house, anger propelling him from room to room, throwing things into a small carryon.

He makes another phone call as he marches toward the security line.

“Hey, Ni. It’s Harry. It’s happening again. When you get this, can you please call him and tell him I’m on my way to fucking kick his arse for lying to me. Also, tell him that we love him.”

***

Making the first flight out to New York, Louis hails a taxi from the airport straight to the hospital Liam told him.

The five-hour plane ride was too long for Louis to have been left alone with his thoughts. Confined to the small coach seat, his anger fairly quickly changed to hurt. Hurt that his boy is still hurting, not just mentally now, but physically. Hurt that it’s quite obvious that Harry’s been hiding his relapse from Louis, lying to his face about it.

All Louis has ever wanted for Harry is to be safe and happy and healthy and feeling loved. He doesn’t understand why Harry feels like he can’t confide in Louis with this and it fucking kills him.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, Louis walks through the lobby doors of the hospital and reaches the front desk. 

“I’m here for Harry Styles. I’m his boyfriend.”

The nurse smiles at him as he types at his computer. “Right. Follow me.”

“He didn’t have a concussion, but he did dislocate his shoulder,” the nurse explains as they move through the hall. “It’s been put back into place, but there should be some bruising. He should keep the sling on for at least a few weeks.” 

“Okay,” Louis breathes, thankful the fall wasn’t as bad as Louis concocted in his head. 

“He was a bit malnourished, though. Low blood pressure and blood sugar. Dehydration. We hooked him up to an IV with some vitamins and prescribed him with some iron tablets for the anemia. You’ll be able to pick them up in the pharmacy when he’s discharged.” 

“Makes sense. He has anorexia.” Louis rubs a hand down his face. IV, vitamins, good. Iron tablets, good. 

The nurse stops, turning to Louis, then flipping through what must be Harry’s chart.

“There isn’t a history of eating disorders in his file?” 

“No. He’s never been officially diagnosed, but he is.” Louis sighs, the anger bubbling up in him again. “He never let me take him in.”

The nurse takes a pen out from the pocket of his scrubs and writes something down on Harry’s file.

“Has Harry been showing any signs of any other mental illness? Anxiety, depression? Any reasons the doctor might want to keep him for a psych evaluation?”

Psych evaluation? The thought makes Louis’ own anxiety ring. 

“No, none of that,” Louis is quick to assure him. “Well, depression maybe. He – he doesn’t really talk to me about this stuff.”

His heart lurches. 

“Right.” They finally stop in front of a room. “I’m going to go consult with the doctor. Go ahead.”

The nurse opens the door for him before taking his clipboard and continuing down the hall.

The room is small and blindingly white, the bed and beeping equipment taking up most of the space. 

Harry’s leaning back on the pillows, donned in a mint green hospital gown. He’s staring out the window on the right side of the room, rolling his bottom lip between his forefinger and his thumb, his left arm tucked into a black sling. Louis can just make out the corner of a dark purple bruise popping out of his gown near his collar bone, a smaller but similar one sitting next to his left eyebrow. There’s a needle in the crook of his elbow, connected to the standing IV drip next to the bed.

He doesn’t look up when Louis walks in. Louis stands at the foot of the bed for a full minute before speaking up.

“You lied to me.” 

After a moment, Harry’s throat bobs. He takes in a shaky breath before finally peeking at Louis. 

“I know.” His voice breaks, finally letting go of his ruse. “I’m sorry.”

Louis sighs, tears welling up in his eyes. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, standing his ground.

“You don’t get to fucking do that, alright? I’m your partner, you don’t get to lie to me.” Yelling at Harry while he’s in a hospital bed is that last thing he wants to do, but he’s finding it hard to keep his cool. “Do you understand how it felt to get Liam’s call? That you had fainted and fallen down the goddamn stairs? That he hadn’t noticed you eating either? After you basically _guilted_ me for not trusting _you_ when I asked if you were in trouble again.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry. I want to tell me when you’re starting to have bad thoughts again. I want you to want my help, because _I love you_ and all I want to fucking do is help you Harry, so that I don’t have to see you in a fucking hospital bed hooked up to an IV because you’ve stopped eating again.” 

They’re both crying now. The words had just rushed out Louis and he means every word, but he feels selfish in a way. Harry’s the one who’s sick. Harry’s the one whose brain tells him things that aren’t true and here’s Louis, yelling at him for something he clearly can’t help. Selfish or not, it still doesn’t make Louis’ words any less true. 

“Lou,” Harry garbles out and Louis goes to him, sitting down onto the side of his bed and burying his face into Harry’s neck.

“I didn’t want to lie, I promise. It killed me to. But I was scared. Scared you’d take it away from me again.”

Louis leans back, squinting down at Harry. “What?”

“I – I missed it. I _missed it,_ Lou,” Harry sobs. “I don’t know why I do this to myself. I don’t know why I like how it feels to be hungry all the time, to be empty. I know it’s bad for me and I just can’t stop. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it and I knew you’d stop me.” 

“Oh, _Harry_ …”

Harry slaps his good hand over his face. “I’m so fucked up.”

“No, you’re not, baby. You have an illness,” Louis takes Harry’s hand away, holding it tight between them. “But I can’t let you have this, H. If I let you keep going, you could die. And I’d never forgive myself if I lost you because of this.” Louis thinks back to what the nurse asked him in the hall. He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “Harry…do you want to die?”

Harry shakes his head aggressively. A rush of relief runs through Louis. 

“You can’t have it both ways, darling,” He pushes Harry’s curls off his forehead, trying to soothe him. “You fell tonight because you fainted. Because you stopped eating on top of already running yourself into the ground with your job every day. I’m thankful, because it could have been so much worse. But this is dangerous and it has to stop.”

Harry gulps, cradling their joined hands against his chest. “You deserve someone better than me. Not some insecure fuck up who lies to the people he loves.” 

“Hey,” Louis says, sternly. He tilts Harry’s chin with his fingers so he can look at him. “In sickness and in health, Harry. We might not be married yet, and I do plan to marry you by the way, but I mean it just as much as any other promise I’ve made or ever will make to you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here and we’re going to get you through this. But we’re doing it the right way this time. That means looking into professional help, okay?”

Harry closes his eyes and, after a second, nods. “Okay,” he whispers. 

Louis will take it.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other until a new nurse comes back in with the doctor. An hour later, Harry’s discharged, leaving the hospital with his prescriptions and a stapled stack of papers with information about eating disorders, along with a few recommendations for therapists back in L.A.

Because of his accident, Harry doesn’t have to stay for the remaining few days of fashion week. Harry’s gutted, but Louis can’t be more relieved to just take him back home where he can take care of him, away from so many triggers.

It’s early in the morning when they drag their feet back through their front door. Louis makes them both a cup of tea, before settling onto the couch, both of them too wired to sleep just yet. They both silently agree not to talk about it, but after a few episodes of Bake Off, Harry sits up from lying on Louis’ chest and pauses the TV. 

“I think I wanna talk to my mum,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Louis holds him while he cries on the phone back home, Anne no doubt crying as well all the way back in Cheshire. The call doesn’t last long, but Harry almost has a hint of a smile when he says she, Gemma, and Robin are planning to come out and see them soon.

Louis stands, pulling Harry to his feet too, careful of his bad arm. “C’mon, love. Let’s get some sleep now, yeah?”

They sleep well into the late afternoon. It had been a long day. 

“I’m going to make us some food, okay?” Louis says carefully, watching Harry. 

He nods slowly, which is enough for Louis. Baby steps. He gets out of bed and almost makes it to the door before Harry stops him.

“It made me feel powerful.” 

Louis turns around. “What?”

Harry sits up, timidly playing with a loose string on his sling. “That’s the best way I can explain it. Even if other things were going wrong – if I got a bad review, or I lost a certain booking, or I was traveling so much and fucking missed you. Here was this, this _thing_ that I had complete control over. That gave me attention and made me feel like I was on top of the world or some shit, even if I was starving, or freezing, or shaking all the time. It all seemed worth it in my head?”

It hurts like hell for Louis to hear something like that come from the love of his life, but he listens. That’s his job – to love and to listen. “I think I understand.”

Harry looks up from his hands, green eyes wide with intent. “My mum said that each day is going to be a battle against my brain. But I promise, Lou, I’m going to fight every day. For myself, but also for you. I won’t go quietly this time.”

Louis walks back over to him on the bed and pulls him close, kissing him deeply. He loves this man with his whole fucking heart. In sickness and in health. 

“I’ll be right there with you. We got this.”


End file.
